


This Heart of Mine

by lemonsorbae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coffee, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the prompt: Dean and Cas are both about to die so one makes a deathbed love confession. When they miraculously survive things are awkward between the two of them, the confessor not thinking the other feels the same way; angst with a happy ending.</p>
    </blockquote>





	This Heart of Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [literaryoblivion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryoblivion/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: Dean and Cas are both about to die so one makes a deathbed love confession. When they miraculously survive things are awkward between the two of them, the confessor not thinking the other feels the same way; angst with a happy ending.

Zombie apocalypse. That’s actually how Dean’s going down.A fucking zombie apocalypse. 

The thing that pisses him off is: zombies are easy. Bullet to the brain and they’re down for the count.  _Again_. But yet, here he is, trapped in a damn storage closet with a graceless Castiel at his side, and one bullet sitting in the magazine of his glock. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"How the hell did we get here?" Dean mutters mostly to himself. He lets his head fall back against the hard cement wall behind him and tries to block out the sounds of the incessantly moaning dead just outside the door.

"Through the mess hall," Castiel states gravely. 

Dean heaves a sigh. “Rhetorical question, Cas.” He glances around the empty storage closet, rubbing at his eyes and trying to force himself to  _think_. He doesn’t get into jams like this. He just doesn’t.

Yet here he is.

As they sit, waiting for their inevitable death - what else can they do, really - part of Dean hopes the zombies will get tired of waiting for them, wander off to harvest somebody else’s brain. And it sounds wild, but hope’s all he’s got left at this point; that’s how fucking bleak the situation is.

When the door handle starts to wiggle, moans seeping beneath the door and creeping into the storage room, Dean comes to the conclusion hope is for suckers.

The wiggling becomes more incessant and is quickly accompanied by heavy fists pounding on the door, and Dean and Castiel are on their feet, breathing shallow and shoulders taut. 

"They’re not strong enough to break in, right?" Dean asks and despite already knowing the answer he  _needs_  Castiel to say no. 

"Yes, with enough force they could break the lock."

"Fuck." Dean mutters. He looks at his gun again, that one bullet not even enough to buy them some extra time, and then at Cas who’s watching him with calculated eyes. 

"We can’t hold them off for long." Castiel says.

Dean snickers, shakes his head. “Fuck, Cas, aren’t you quite the optimist.” 

The door clangs loudly and Dean’s head snaps up and towards the sound. The grotesque faces of the dead are peering through the small window on the door, their jaws working jerkily as they groan.

They’ve double, tripled almost, in numbers, and they’re crowding around the door, pounding decaying flesh covered hands against the metal. 

This is it. Last episode, folks, no To Be Continued.

Dean heaves a deep sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face and finally looking at Castiel. “Together?” He says, because if there’s one thing Dean’s not, it’s a coward and he’d rather go out fighting than hiding.

Castiel swallows hard, nods, takes a ready stance, and waits for Dean’s command.

For a minute Dean feels like he should say something else, endless amounts of words long unsaid burning a hole in his tongue. But instead he just reaches out, squeezes Castiel’s bicep, and gives him a nod.

When the door finally flies open and the zombies descend, Dean’s heart pounds in his chest. He always felt like he’d go out in a blaze of glory, thought he’d even come to terms with that, but now that he’s staring death in the face, there’s a part of him that isn’t ready to die.

 _What’s going to happen to his car?_ *Punch.*

 _What’s going to happen to Sam?_  *Kick, kick, punch.*

 _He hasn’t even said goodbye._  *Uppercut.*

Castiel’s frantic shout of his name is what drags Dean back to the present. When he looks to his left he’s met with the horrifying scene of Castiel being choked by a zombie, its head tilted to the side in an air of ease, and Dean’s gut lurches.

He reaches for his gun and without a second thought puts his last glimmer of hope through the brain of the zombie, watches as it crumples to the ground in a satisfying slump. At least for a brief moment Castiel is okay.

After some struggle they’re fighting side by side again, just like the good old days.

"Dean," Castiel pants as he shoves a zombie out of the way, only to watch it come right back with more force.

Dean grunts his acknowledgement, using the butt of his gun to try and knock a few of the suckers out. His whole body is beginning to ache, his energy on the brink of exertion. Pretty soon he’ll be at the end of his rope.

"Dean," Castiel says again, and Dean turns to look at the other guy, the franticness of his voice sending a shiver down Dean’s spine. "Dean,  _I love you_.”

And just like that, it feels like the ground disappears and Dean’s plummeting through open air. His brain skitters to a halt as he digests the words. “You-“

Castiel nods, kneeing a zombie in the gut, and shoving him into a group of others. “I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you. I didn’t mean for you to hear it like this.”

Dean doesn’t get a chance to respond because he’s shoved to the ground and slugged in the stomach over, and over, and over again. He can hear Castiel screaming his name, wants to reach out to him, but his limbs are too heavy, the edges of his vision blurring.

He opens his mouth to call out, but there’s a bright white light and then everything goes black.

***

Castiel lingers outside Dean’s bedroom door. He can see the hunter from where he stands, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and while he yearns to be closer he cannot bring himself to cross the threshold.

It’s been three days since Castiel miraculously found a shred of grace still lingering inside him and wiped out every zombie within a five mile radius, giving him enough time to drag Dean’s body to safety. Three days since Dean nearly died right before his eyes.

Three days since he watched Dean’s face twist in shock when Castiel admitted he loved him.

He still hasn’t figured out which is more agonizing, watching the most important being in all of existence being beat to death, or knowing that man doesn’t share his feelings.

A hand comes to land on his shoulder, large and warm, and Castiel turns to see Sam standing next to him.

"You gonna go in today, Cas?" He asks, giving Castiel’s shoulder a squeeze before letting his hand fall.

They’ve had this conversation before, Castiel has spent much time standing in Dean’s doorway since they were rescued, but his answer is always the same. “No.”

Sam’s face pulls into a sympathetic grimace. “Maybe you should get some rest,” he says.

Castiel nods, his gaze falling back on Dean’s sleeping form. He feels tired, exhausted actually, but he hasn’t been able to sleep. Not since… “I’ll be in my room,” Castiel finally states, and then he tears himself away and crosses the hall.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Castiel falls on the bed, curling in on himself and letting the watery grey of his dreams drag him under.

It’s nearly two in the morning when Castiel starts awake. The Bunker is quiet, still in a way Castiel wishes he could be, and for a moment he lies unmoving, letting the steady tick of the clock on his bedside table calm his nerves.

He waits for sleep to come again, keeping his eyes shut tight against the eerie darkness of his room, but the familiar restlessness he’s grown used to since falling creeps into his limbs and settles there. He won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon.

Pushing himself from his bed Castiel wraps up in his robe and shuffles towards the kitchen.

He stops short when he finds the lights already on and Dean’s form hunched over the coffee maker, cursing its existence. Castiel’s first reaction is relief because  _Dean’s awake_ , but it’s followed almost immediately by the desperate need to flee.

"You just gonna stand there and stare at me all night, Cas, or you gonna help me out?" Dean’s voice is gruff from misuse, and Castiel feels unnerved knowing Dean sensed his presence without even seeing him.

"I-"

"Lights out for four damn days and I wake up not knowing how to work the fucking percolator."

Castiel swallows hard and crosses the room. Dean’s fingers shake as he fumbles with the buttons, a tremor most likely gained from lying lax for so long, and Castiel reaches out his steadying touch and gently moves Dean’s hands away.

"This one," he mutters, hitting the proper button.

Dean shakes his head. “I knew that.”

Castiel nods. “Of course.”

The coffee machine whirs to life and an uneasy silence settles over them.

Dean clears his throat.

"So uh-" he scratches at the back of his neck. "Thanks for saving my ass. I owe you one. Don’t know how you did it, but… thanks."

"It was the last of my grace," Castiel explains, "it had been dormant for so long I didn’t realize I still had any. But when I thought-" He stops. How does he put into words it was the fear of Dean dying that pulled that remaining shred of grace from some unknown place inside of him? That somehow he had nothing, and then suddenly there was something?

"It’s okay, man." Dean offers. "You can spare me the gory bits."

Castiel nods again, slowly.  _The gory bits._  “Does Sam know you’re awake?” He wonders.

"Nah. I didn’t bother waking him. He’ll figure it out when he goes to cry over my bedside some more and finds me gone."

Another beat of agonizing silence passes, Castiel’s chest growing tight with every second that ticks on. He understands that Dean doesn’t share his feelings, and it’s alright, Castiel will manage just as he has for the last five years, but Dean acting like nothing’s happened is almost worse than Talking About It.

As the warm smell of coffee fills the air Dean turns to the overhead cabinet and pulls down two mugs.

"Are you sure coffee is a wise choice at this time of night?" Castiel asks as he watches Dean pour the black liquid into the mugs. He’d come for tea, but accepts the cup from Dean nonetheless.

"I just slept for 96 hours, you really think coffee’s gonna fuck up my schedule?" Dean takes a swallow, hissing through his teeth at the heat, “‘Sides," he mumbles, "it’s decaff. I just needed somethin’ warm."

"How do you feel?" Castiel questions, watching the tendrils of steam curl into the air. He’s afraid of meeting Dean’s eyes, afraid of what he’ll see there; pity, rejection, distaste. It’s enough to feel those emotions rolling through the air; he can’t bear to see them on Dean’s face too.

"Like I went ten rounds with a zombie and lost."

A twinge of regret settles in the pit of Castiel’s stomach, his fingers itching to reach out and melt Dean’s ailments away with just one touch. “I’m sorry I can’t heal you,” he murmurs.

Dean lets all the air out of his lungs, “Fuck, Cas, give yourself some credit. I’m alive, thanks to you. The rest is moot; nothing a little Ibuprofen can’t take care of.”

And maybe that’s true, but it still hurts. At least if he could heal Dean, he would feel more useful.

They finish their coffee in silence, the occasional drip of the tap the only other sound in the room, and when Castiel’s belly is full and warm Dean is there, whisking Castiel’s mug out of his hands and placing it in the sink with his own.

There’s nothing left to say now, other than maybe I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, but those words just won’t come. Castiel does love Dean, whether the feeling is reciprocated or not. He doesn’t want to say anything that would lessen the sanctity of that.

"I should go back to bed," Castiel finally says, quickly growing to hate the thick silence that seems to fill up all the spaces between him and Dean.

Dean nods. “Yeah, I should too.”

Castiel waits, wondering if they should go together or if he should allow Dean to go ahead alone. When he doesn’t fall in step with the other man, Dean turns, catching Castiel’s gaze. “You comin’ or not?”

Castiel sighs. “Yes,” he says. “I’m coming.”

Outside his bedroom Castiel is anxious to be alone where he can work through this quietly, away from Dean. “Good night, Dean.” He offers over his shoulder as the hunter hovers in the doorway of his own bedroom.

Castiel’s about to step into his room, ready to close the door tightly behind him, when Dean calls his name. He stops, waits, listens.

"Me too." Dean finally tenders. His voice is soft, timid, like the words are too precious to be spoken.

Castiel turns. “What?”

Dean runs a hand through his hair, nerves etched clearly in his features. “I said  _me too,_ " he repeats, this time with a little more gusto.

Castiel frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Dean lets out a shaky laugh, his eyes fluttering closed as he shakes his head. “Goddamn, maybe I should have waited to blurt this out when we were about to die too. Probably would have been easier.”

There’s a fluttery feeling building in Castiel’s chest now at the possibility of what Dean might be implying. But then, hope seems like a brutal jest at this point, so he almost doesn’t dare.

"Dean-" Castiel begins, but then Dean is crossing the hallway in two strides, cupping the sides of his face, and pouring his soul into Castiel’s gaze with eyes wide open.

"I love you, you idiot," Dean grumbles, "okay? I love you.  _Me_   _too_.”

Castiel has time only to breathe, “Oh,” before Dean is slotting their lips together in a hungry kiss, putting his whole self into it like this is something he’s held at bay for  _years_ , like the one thing he needed to break down the dam and let everything come spilling out was Castiel’s lips on his own.

"I love you," Castiel mutters again, wanting Dean to hear it without the promise of death hanging in the air. And though his mouth falls silent as it works against Dean’s, his heart beats a steady tattoo of the words,  _I love you. I love you. I love you._

When they pull away, Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s, a thumb idly rubbing against his cheekbone. “Say it again,” he requests.

Castiel quirks a smile, his body falling slack against the hard line of Dean’s chest pressed against his own. Of every way he imagined this going, he never anticipated it feeling _this_ good. “I love you,” he indulges.

Dean kisses him again, his lips soft, tender.

"I love you," Castiel whispers once more, clinging to the elation swirling around inside of him. If this moment never ends it will be too soon.

Dean’s mouth falls against his own, Castiel’s eyelids fluttering closed as Dean murmurs against his lips, “Me too.”


End file.
